Saturday, February 20, 2010
if she could only be a little thinner, a little prettier, a little nicer and better in bed
Sometimes these thoughts of someone that could save me consumes me. And my friend, Maddy, who kindly has been putting me up, is also caught up in the same sideshow circus. She is currently using food to dull the ache in her heart that pounds for an undeserving asshole. You've heard it before.
You've done it before.
She's been stocking up on chocolate bars, and candy hearts and sour patch kids and Salt and Vinegar chips. And she sits in her bed, in her cold and damp flat, eating and crying. And reading Vouge and Marie Claire. There are chocolate smears all over her pillows and greasy chip crumbles embedded in her nightgown. And the magazines tell her that if she could only be a little thinner, a little prettier, a little nicer and better in bed. If her skin could only be a bit softer and her complexion a bit clearer. If she could only be a tad sexier and have less cellulite, then the world could be hers. She could hover above it, whip in hand and force it serve her.
She vomited in the sink. Black mascara spiders climbed down her cheeks. Nobody ever loved me like him.
But he told you he didn't love you.
Well, it felt like he did. It felt so good. Better than a sugar coma.
Dad called from Sedona where he is staying with a healer. Probably some crystal-wielding psycho with wheatgrass juice in her fridge.
Before I head out to the pub I want to thank Vinda of Super stylish and fun Fashion Atelier for interviewing me and creating a portrait of how I would love to look. Vinda, I am cute, but not that cute.
And to all of you whose fab blogs I have been neglecting this past week, bear with me. I will catch up and I still adore you.